I am lost in the bog of man

and I’m sitting
inside the satire,
the empire
of hatred
and painted faces.
My backbone
around my neck,
the kids clamped
in kindergarten.

Cadaver cracks, man
munching on the uterus
used – again, again –
plateaus for pain
for bare bone blankets
and the snapping in the hall
is a sign, a blessed sign!
A symbolism of grotesque
growths spewing womb-side
and idolized high upward
beneath the heavenly book
of life, of living peace.

I am content.

Just seeing
opportunity
in the present.

– Tristan Cody